


Scatter the Heavens into Stars

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: A little angst, Baking, Because I Couldn't Resist, Cookies, Cuddles, Gen, No editing we die like mne, fear toxin, graphic descriptions of cuddling, too much fluff to bear, you can't have cookies without a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Dick is getting over fear toxin, and finds the best way to do that is work a little and spend time with his dad and little brother.





	Scatter the Heavens into Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CamsthiSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/gifts).



> Thanks to CamsthiSky for the idea, outline, and title.  
> EDIT: Cam says she didn't give me a *real* outline, so thanks for the idea, title, and fake outline.

Dick was a bit shaky. It was understandable, he was only a few hours out of his last dose of antitoxin. A few more out of breathing in a lung full of poisonous green fear toxin. He promised both Bruce and Damian he was fine. Told them to go back out on patrol if they wanted. He’d be alright. He was fine. He gave them his best smile and hoped it wasn’t wobbling as his brain kept trying to tell them Bruce’s face was ghost white and Damian had blood seeping out of his chest.

He managed to erase the image by ruffling his brother’s hair and watching Bruce’s eyes instead of his skin. They were fine. Alive. It was the toxin messing with his brain. He let himself be sent to shower without asking what their plan was. He needed to seem fine. He didn’t want to worry them.

Dick hadn’t told them he was still seeing things, even an hour after Bruce had held him down and Damian had stabbed his arm with the antidote. It was too soon for more antitoxin. And if he said anything they’d both stop their whole nights for him. They’d worry more, Dick didn’t want them to worry. He’d told them the dose of toxin wasn’t even that bad.

He stood in the shower and let the hot water run until it was cold, and for longer after that. Until the liquid in his bloodstream turned the red falling on him back to clear and clean.

The shaking had mostly stopped by then. Except for his chest. And his fingers. His chest was tight and cold, but not cold? It ached like he’d just lost Bruce again. Like he’d just seen Damian run through. But his mind knew they were alive and well. That he’d seen them just that night.

His fingers trembled in the way fingers trembled when they’d been submerged in snow or gripped tight to a steering wheel that hadn’t defrosted yet.

Someone had laid out clean sweats for him. The pants were soft, like blankets on his legs, the hoodie warm and encompassing. It helped his chest a little, and he decided that part of the pain had just been cold from the shower.

Dick tried sitting in his room. He pulled a blanket over his lap and sat on his bed with a book in his hands. The little black text shuddering with his grip. Rain interrupted the running lines of ink, and pulled the concentration he’d managed over to his window.

Dick never minded the rain, but it was dark. The wind was whipping through the trees, smashing leaves against the windows, and slashing branches across the roof in harsh scraping noises that reminded Dick of chipmunks in the attic being chased by Damian’s cat. It made the unease in his chest worse.

The book stayed pillowed on his blanket as he decided food would help.

He thought he was hallucinating again when he saw Damian in the doorway. An apparition come to scare him off leaving the room. Another vision poised to start bleeding or screaming. Maybe a combination of the two that would set Dick’s guilt boiling inside him like the water in Damian’s tea kettle when he wanted a cup of earl grey. A reminder of every time he’d failed his youngest brother.

He couldn’t help but be happy it was just Damian and Bruce at the manor tonight.

“Richard.” Damian said, and Dick was kind of sure he wasn’t a vision. “The rain kept us from leaving.” Dick could hear the lie in his brother’s voice. The excuse. “I thought you might like to assist me in the kitchen?”

“With what?” Dick asked, hoping blood wouldn’t bloom against Damian’s grey t-shirt.

“I found an old recipe in Pennyworth’s book.”

Dick frowned. Imaginary Damian never found things, let alone recipes in books. He wasn’t a figment then. And maybe Dick would get lucky and the antitoxin would hold back anything unfriendly from piercing his brain. He had enough to deal with while still fighting off the anxiety in his chest and the tremor in his hands.

“What kind?” He asked.

“Cookies.” Damian said, a bit of color highlighting his cheeks, “I know it is foolish, but the sugar and flour may help you recover faster. Plus they are time and thought consuming to create.”

Dick gave him a small smile, “You want to distract me from lingering effects?”

“I have found it a useful tactic.”

And there was the barb to Dick’s heart. It wasn’t Damian’s fault. He was trying to help, and he was mostly succeeding. Only Dick couldn’t help but hate the fact that Damian was the one giving advice. That he had developed coping mechanisms against a drug he never should have had to face.

His own clouded brain pulled up memories of his little brother writhing in fear. Screaming for his mother and father and even Dick himself. Sometimes he only screamed for Dick, even after he’d been cradled in Dick’s arms for hours. Crane was never kind to children, and worse to Robin specifically.

Dick strode forward before he realized what he was doing and cupped his brother’s cheek. Damian’s startled response was a widening of his eyes. He was used to Dick’s need for touch at this point, and he probably didn’t want to frighten him beyond the racing already taking over Dick’s heart.

His brother’s cheek was warm. The surprise wasn’t fear or terror in his eyes, but simple worry for Dick himself. A hand came up to take his wrist. He didn’t make Dick let go, only gripped in a reassuring fashion. Small fingers that didn’t tremble, thin and long enough to just wrap around Dick’s wrist.

He held on to that anchor for a moment longer before letting go. Damian did not release him. His hand turning with Dick’s own, fingers slipping to tangle in Dick’s.

“Baking will help.” He said, his voice quiet, “And I have invited Father. None of us will be sleeping with this gale, so we might as well do something useful.”

All Bruce had done when they arrived was to lay out the supplies in a neat row. Wet ingredients then dry with measuring implements, spoons, and a few bowls. The recipe in question sat in front of the collection on the counter. It was yellowed with age. Bits of chocolate dotting one of the corners, and maybe some spilled oil in a white spot. The handwriting was Alfred’s perfect script.

“I thought we might mix by hand.” Bruce said, as Dick lifted a wooden spoon.

It was another form of distraction. Both Bruce and Damian had his number, and strangely Dick didn’t mind. Bruce set to reading the recipe and helping Damian measure.

Dick stirred. He cracked two eggs. He tried wrenching open the vanilla bottle that always stuck, scratching his palms before he gave up and ran the lid under hot water for a few seconds to loosen it.

Damian held out the tablespoon, but Dick eyed the vanilla and poured. Alfred had told him once when he was younger that the secret to truly good cookies was to always add a little more vanilla than was called for. He repeated the line to Damian when he boy looked affronted at Dick’s casual pouring.

“You could have used the spoon then added some.” His brother muttered, so Dick elbowed him in the ribs.

The slight giggle he got in response untied one of the knots in his chest. A puff of flour dusting Damian’s hair undid another. Throwing a handful of it at Bruce and the noogie he received in return taught his chest how to breathe again.

He was stirring again, and he kept stirring while Bruce re-measured the flour. Damian said something about measuring in grams rather than using the clunky cups they’d pulled out, but Dick liked the cups. They made for a surprise when the cookies came out. Would they be right or wrong? Good or bad? There was a joy in the question.

Dick couldn’t help but sneak a bite of the dough once they’d added everything except the chips. He spooned out a little more as he watched Damian take a whole bar of chocolate and dice half of it into even chunks, then the other half into ones of various sizes.

“This way some melt all the way, and others are firm for texture.” His brother said, not looking up, but seeming to feel Dick’s gaze.

He hummed through the dough in his mouth. Bruce had another spoon in his hands and Dick noticed an indent in roughly the same shape. He grinned at his dad. Bruce held up a shushing finger and eyed Damian. He had the habit of reminding them how bad uncooked flour and eggs were. Like that had ever stopped Dick before.

Damian poured the chips in and Dick stirred again. Bruce was greasing a cookie sheet. Damian checking the oven. Dick’s fingers were still on the handle of the spoon. Sure and confident as he measured out lumps of dough.

They filled one sheet and put it in the oven. While Damian set a timer Dick and Bruce both had spoons of dough. There was something about how the flour, butter, and sugar tasted uncooked. The powdery feel that wasn’t powdered because it was moist. The sugar and butter balanced with vanilla. Firm chocolate crunching under his teeth.

Damian was eyeing him.

“A spoon of it won’t kill you.” Dick said.

His brother huffed.

“It’s really good.” Bruce told him.

Damian’s arms uncrossed and he eyed the silver mixing bowl. Dick could see the thoughts running through his brain. The warnings against uncooked dough. The fact that not only Dick, but Bruce had already eaten some. That they both recommended it.

A small hand reached out towards Dick for a spoon.

They’d finished the bowl when the scent of cookies baking drifted across Dick’s senses. He didn’t think he could manage to actually eat baked cookies, but his stomach seemed to grumble in response to the warm scent all the same.

“Here.” Damian said, pressing a glass of milk into his hand.

Dick watched the white liquid for a moment. It did not shudder. His heart was steady. His chest open. His throat was tight from thirst, and he downed the milk in one go. It was cold and fresh and cleared away the residue of dough in his mouth.

“If Alfred asks.” Bruce said, a glass of milk in his own hand, “We ate the cookies, not the dough.”

“He will not believe it.” Damian said.

Dick nodded, “He knows you too well, Bruce.”

The man raised an eyebrow at them both, “Me? I’m not the one who used the mixing spoon to eat dough off of.”

“It’s easier to eat that way, with less scooping.” Dick said, “Besides I watched you down half the bowl, Old Man.”

Beside him Dick heard Damian stifle a laugh. Bruce’s attention darted to him and Dick saw his brother straighten.

“You didn’t even want to try it.”

“I was coerced.” Damian said, in defense.

Dick wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulders, “By Bruce and I asking you once?”

The boy huffed, and crossed his arms, “You assume I listen to anyone else.”

The laugh that bubbled up out of Dick was something he wouldn’t have expected to experience until the sun had risen again. It turned into something hilarious, but not sad or painful. He was honestly, really, happy.

Damian couldn’t hide his smile, Bruce chuckled himself, and Dick wiped tears brought by mirth and blessings from the corner of his eyes. Why had he tried to tough out dealing with the toxin? He was the worst kind of hypocrite with the best kind of family.

The timer for the cookies beeped and Dick moved to find the oven mitts, “I think we’ve had enough sugar for the night. Let’s wrap these up for the morning.” he suggested, pulling the golden brown disks out of the oven.

“Good idea.” Bruce said, “Why don’t you two let me finish this? It sounds like the storm has passed, and someone should get some sleep tonight.”

Dick hesitated a moment before Bruce gave him a firm look. He wasn’t terrified or anxious anymore, and sleep could only do him good. Except, he didn’t want to be away from his family. A hand took his.

“You will sleep with me tonight, Grayson.” Damian said, when Dick looked down. “In the event the storm starts up again. You know how I hate thunder.” He added.

Dick smiled at him, “That I do.” He pulled his hand from Damian’s, “Go on ahead of me and get things ready. In fact, go to my room. Your bed’s too small. I’ll be up in a minute.”

His brother rolled his eyes at him but followed his instruction leaving Bruce and Dick alone together.

“Thanks.” Dick said.

His dad didn’t respond immediately. When he did it was by stepping forward to pull Dick into a hug. His arms were tight, his chest firm, he smelled like Bruce and cookies. Chocolate and spice. Vanilla and that men’s shampoo he insisted on using that was too strong but also so Bruce.

Dick held him back, letting the reality that his dad was fine, and there, and comforting him sink in. Then he held him a few moments longer and stepped back.

“Thanks.” He said again.

“You’ll tell me if you need anything?” Bruce asked.

Dick nodded, “You’re always welcome to join us, just in case.” He said.

His father’s eyes seemed to sparkle, “I might take you up on that.”

Dick nodded and left him to the cookies. Damian was sitting up in his bed when he arrived, changed into the batman pajamas Dick had given him for Christmas the year before. He smiled at his brother’s gesture of affection and crawled into the bed.

Damian was snuggled against him as soon as the lights were out and Dick found sleep quickly coming over him. It held off until the bed sunk again, a heavy indent in the mattress, and Damian grumbled about being shifted slightly.

Dick felt Bruce at his back, first adjusting the blankets so everyone was covered, then wrapping his arms around both Dick and Damian. Dick’s eyes slipped shut as he felt soft lips touch the crown of his head.


End file.
